


He's Got My Back

by eqyptiangold



Series: A Collection of Sterek One Shots [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 90 percent fluff, Alpha Derek, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Five Times, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), POV Derek, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Touch-Starved, for part of it at least, ten percent plot, there's a witch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eqyptiangold/pseuds/eqyptiangold
Summary: Stiles almost thought he was doing something wrong because how the fuck could one person possibly be this tense. However, after a few long minutes of digging his fingers into Derek's back and rubbing, Stiles finally managed to smooth out one of the smaller knots.Derek finally reacted, gasping softly and subtly arching up. The alpha froze, while Stiles continued to knead his back. After a few moments, during which Stiles could feel just how tensed up Derek was, the grumpy wolf slowly relaxed. By the time Stiles finally succumbed to exhaustion, half of the knots were gone and Derek was practically melting into the bed.-Five Times Stiles Rubbed Derek's Back and One Time Derek Asked For It





	He's Got My Back

 

The first time, Stiles didn’t even realize what he was doing. He was busy; preoccupied with researching the latest threat in Beacon Hills, listening to a new album he’d just downloaded, and trying to bring feeling back into his foot that’d gotten pins and needles. Rapidly, his right clicked and scrolled and darted across the trackpad. Isaac was describing a symbol as Stiles looked for any type of information on it. Erica was trying to do the same as the former, her voice overlapping with Isaac’s as she spoke quickly. 

Only adding to the cacophony of noise, Jackson and Scott were playing video games in their newest attempt to bond. Based on the shouting and passive aggressive little remarks, it wasn’t going well. Lydia and Allison seemed to be bonding as they laughed at their over-competitive boyfriends while still occasionally cheering. Stiles’ music played softly next to him and he tapped his right foot along unconsciously. His left foot, however, had been curled up beneath the teenager for an hour, causing an irritating case of pins and needles that bordered on painful. Wincing, he stretched the offending leg out across his bed as he shook and wiggled it. 

Really, with all that going on, how was Stiles meant to pay attention to what his left hand was doing? If it’d somehow bridged the gap between him and Derek, who was lying next to him on the bed with an old grimoire, was Stiles really to blame? He had ADHD and was constantly twitching or moving; it was only natural he’d start to move that left hand. But he definitely, absolutely was  _ not _ stroking Derek’s back. Stiles was just… moving his hand. And there was  _ no way _ Derek was subtly arching back into the touch. The werewolf was merely stretching. They had been sitting around researching for hours. It was only reasonable. 

Still, Stiles snatched his hand back as soon as he noticed. Derek jumped in surprise. Well, he was a badass scary werewolf, so it was more like a tiny flinch that no one noticed except for Stiles. Unsure what to say, the two boys held eye contact for six seconds--Stiles counted--before Derek turned back to his grimoire. Blinking and shaking his head slightly, Stiles turned back to his own research. 

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” he asked Isaac and Erica. 

 

The second time was definitely Derek’s fault. Stiles was innocently sprawling across his bed after they’d taken care of the recent threat without a hitch--thanks to his incredible research, of course. He deserved a break to laze around in bed after what felt like the first time their plan had actually worked on the first try. It was a success to be written in history books, in his opinion. 

Derek, however, apparently disagreed. Barely five minutes into Stiles’ celebration couch potato (bed potato?) fest, the alpha came crawling through the window. “Derek?” Stiles mumbled through a mouthful of the popcorn he was feasting on. “What are you-” 

The alpha walked purposefully across the room and threw himself down on the bed next to Stiles, landing his heavy muscular werewolf body on the teenager’s hand. “Shut up,” he ordered, before Stiles could whine and pout. “Cora found wolfsbane liquor and they’re all getting drunk at my place,” Derek barreled on, grabbing the remote from Stiles and swiping through Netflix in search of something to watch. “Scott said you weren’t interested.” 

Stiles nodded slowly, starting to squirm his trapped hand in search of a more comfortable position. Earlier, he’d turned down the invite in favour of lazing around at home. He was tired, okay? And he wasn’t in the mood to get shit-faced. 

“So you decided to come here?” Stiles turned slightly to peer over at Derek. Finally, he found a way to position his hand that didn’t ache. With his fingertips spread across the muscles of Derek’s back, palm pressed to the clothed flesh, it didn’t hurt too bad so long as Stiles kept his hand moving slightly. 

“Yeah,” Derek replied, gaze trained intently on the TV. 

Used to the alpha’s short answers, Stiles shrugged it off. “Okay, well, if you’re going to come barging in and steal half my bed then you have to take off your shoes. Glancing at Derek’s worn leather jacket, Stiles tacked on, “The jacket, too. This is a comfy zone.” 

Rolling his eyes, the werewolf complied. He crawled down the bed to toss the clothes to the floor before apparently deciding getting back to the top of the bed was too much effort. Lazily, he settled in on his stomach with his chin on his hands. Scowling at the alpha’s sock-clad feet from where they lay next to his head, Stiles scooched around until he mirrored the position. “What’re we watchin’?” he asked, turning on his side to look at Derek. In typical Derek fashion, the werewolf didn’t reply. Instead, he shoved the remote back at Stiles. 

Smiling wryly, the teenager accepted it and flopped back on his stomach to look at the TV. Due to his dramatics, he ended up lying closer to Derek with their shoulders and thighs touching. “You wanna watch this?” Stiles asked, gesturing at the show Derek had last been looking at before handing off the remote. The alpha shrugged. Taking that as yes, Stiles scrolled to the first episode and hit play. 

Derek’s lips twitched in a way that Stiles decided to interpret as a grin. Having already seen the first few episodes, the teenager lay partially on his side to watch the alpha’s expressions. Somewhere along the line, it’d become his mission to learn how to read the stoic language that was Derek’s facial expressions. Following the path from Derek’s impressive eyebrows, across his truly unfair cheekbones, Stiles soon found himself looking at the lines of the werewolf’s muscles through his obscenely tight shirt. 

Before he could really think it through, Stiles lifted his hand and reached out to touch. Save for a slight tic in his jaw, Derek didn’t react. Emboldened, Stiles started tracing the lines of his spine just to see how far he could go before getting pushed away. Continuing to receive absolutely no reaction, Stiles slid the pads of his fingers over to the wide expanse of muscles. Using everything he learned in the one massage class he’d taken in his attempt to better help his injured friends, he started working on removing the tension from Derek’s back. Stiles almost thought he was doing something wrong because  _ how the fuck could one person possibly be this tense _ . However, after a few long minutes of digging his fingers in and rubbing, Stiles finally managed to smooth out one of the smaller knots. 

Derek finally reacted, gasping softly and subtly arching up. The alpha froze, while Stiles continued to knead his back. After a few moments, during which Stiles could  _ feel _ just how tensed up Derek was, the grumpy wolf slowly relaxed. By the time Stiles finally succumbed to exhaustion, half of the knots were gone and Derek was practically melting into the bed. 

 

The third time, well. Stiles had no one to blame but an overload of caffeine and sleep deprivation paired with forgetting his Adderall and still being let loose in Derek’s house for a pack meeting. It was almost worse than when he got drunk because Stiles didn’t have an excuse anyone would really believe. 

Stiles arrived at Derek’s place at 4:30, half an hour before the rest of the pack was scheduled to arrive. Neither him nor Derek had suggested it, but the alpha still let him in without question. “You suck at organizing snacks,” Stiles announced, patting Derek’s shoulder as he speed-walked past without a second thought. “Stop mixing Cheetos with plain chips,” he continued, entering the kitchen where a few jumbo bags of chips along with four bowls were waiting on the counter. He heard Derek scoff softly behind him, but Stiles ignored it as he carefully started filling the colourful plastic bowls. He took extra care to control his shaky, overcaffeinated hands. “I don’t need supervision,” Stiles quipped, glancing back over his shoulder. Derek was just kind of… looming, but it had long since stopped creeping Stiles out. “Go hunt some squirrels or something.” The werewolf scoffed again, but turned to leave the room. To do what, Stiles didn’t know. Maybe he really was going to hunt squirrels. 

Soon, though, while the teenager was in the middle of fixing the temperature on Derek’s fridge and scowling at the frozen cucumber in the back, he heard the distinct clunking hiss-rattle of the pipes as the shower turned on. Stiles really wasn’t sure how to react other than snickering. Shaking his head wryly, he let the fridge fall shut as he reached for the coffeemaker. Upon seeing that Derek had bought himself a coffee every day from some overpriced coffee shop, Stiles had stared him down with his hands on his hips like an angry mom until Derek caved and bought a coffee maker. If he was being honest, the teenager had partially just wanted coffee for himself. 

Stiles downed a cup quickly and started refilling the mug he’d claimed as his own. Well, the Twilight mug he’d bought for Derek that the alpha refused to use. “Hey, Edward,” he greeted, wincing in surprise when hot coffee splashed over his hand. Stiles winced in surprise when he realized that he’d been bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Fuck,” he whined, slamming the mug down and rushing to run his hand under cold water. “Ow.” 

Scowling at the blank face of Edward Cullen, Stiles shut the tap off and pressed his hand--that was still sore but now also cold--to his chest. “Derek!” he yelled before he could think it through. Due to wolf-y senses, it took barely a minute before the alpha skittered across the tiles on still-damp feet to stop in front of Stiles. He wore nothing but a towel, tied loosely around his waist. 

“What’s wrong,” Derek asked flatly, looking annoyed that Stiles wasn’t lying on the floor in immense pain. 

“Kiss it better,” Stiles ordered, extending his hand like a maiden meeting a prince for the first time. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, sounding so incredibly  _ done _ . It was impressive how much disappointment and annoyance he fit in one word. 

“Kiss it,” Stiles repeated. “Then you can go finish your shower. You have soap behind your ears. Wait. Am I supposed to put soap behind my ears? What the fuck? No one told me,” he whined, stepping closer to inspect the alpha’s ears. 

“ _ Stiles _ ,” Derek repeated. 

“Right, okay,” Stiles hummed. “Kiss my sad, injured hand and then go wash the fucking soap off your ears.” Derek made a point of rolling his eyes before he turned and started to grumpily stomp away. Like some type of badass ninja, Stiles dove after him and attempted to tackle him. However, the stupid werewolf was a wall of muscles and barely even missed a step. It left Stiles awkwardly slung across Derek’s back with his feet digging into his hips. A moment passed during which Stiles felt like a cartoon character when they froze in mid-air before inevitably falling. 

With a yelp of surprise, he started sliding down Derek’s bare back. Rather than lower his feet all of half a foot to touch on the ground, Stiles skidded his hands across the werewolf’s water droplet-covered back in his attempt to stay aboard. Derek, the big, unhelpful oaf that he was, just stood still as the hundred-and-some pound teenager scrambled. At least, he did until Stiles’ foot accidentally smacked the knot holding his towel up. 

“Oh, my god!” Stiles yelled-- _ yelled _ \--in surprise. Thankfully, Derek’s werewolf reflexes saved both of their dignities. He grabbed the towel just in time. Carefully, Stiles lowered himself to the floor. The pair stood in tense silence for just a minute too long before Stiles muttered petulantly. “You should’a just kissed the hand.” 

Derek turned to him with a scowl. “You’re fine,” he grumbled. 

“Yeah, well, your back is tense and knotted again after all my hard work,” Stiles retorted, unbothered by the fact that it was probably the worst comeback in the history of all comebacks. “So shut up and go wash your soapy ears, you big dumbo.” Derek rolled his eyes and turned around. Stiles decided to pretend he saw a little hint of a smile. 

Five minutes later, Derek walked back downstairs--still shirtless, but thankfully clad in a pair of sweatpants. Before Stiles could make a little quip about something or other, the door flung open with a bang and a chorus of rowdy voices. The pack had arrived, right on time. 

“Stiles, why are you here so early?” Erica called. In the past, Stiles’ would’ve been freaked out by her knowing he was there without seeing him. “Is the alpha playing favourites?” 

“Dad cut me off from coffee,” Stiles replied, picking up the Twilight cup to take a sip. Derek made a face that he couldn’t read. “And you really think Derek would pick me as his favourite?” The rest of the pack walked in as Stiles was in the middle of his question. It let him watch as Isaac and Erica made a weird little faces and exchanged a look, along with Boyd who somehow managed to exude the same expression without actually moving his face. 

“Is he your favourite?” Erica asked with an overly bright grin. Stiles wrinkled his nose and scrunched his eyebrows in a way that made him hope it looked as attractive as when Derek did it. More likely, he thought, it just made him look like he had two skinny caterpillars on the move across his forehead. “Then who is?” Erica asked, casually pursing her lips and preening. 

“I don’t know!” Stiles said, voice a bit louder than intended. “Maybe Scott. Or Isaac.” Isaac smiled to himself while Scott pouted and sent a grumpy look in his direction. “Sorry, dude,” Stiles shrugged, punching his best friend’s shoulder. “Allison is your favourite. I had to branch out. Plus Isaac is always nice to me.” Scott stuttered, clearly unsure how to defend himself without insulting Allison, Stiles, or Isaac. 

“But I’m the prettiest,” Erica protested. 

“I’m just awesome,” Lydia chimed in. 

Stiles took a card out of Derek’s book and simply stared at his friends. “I’m getting more coffee,” he announced overdramatically as he merely turned around to the coffee pot. “Anyone want some?” he wondered, emptying the pot into his cup and brewing a fresh one. A cacophony of responses somewhere between  _ yes _ ,  _ no _ , and  _ it’s 5 o’clock at night, don’t you need sleep? _ Unable to filter out who had said what, Stiles decided to guess. “Scott and Allison, no. Lydia and Boyd, yes. Jackson, no. Erica and Isaac have bio tests tomorrow that they probably want help studying for later,” Stiles glanced over his shoulder to wink pointedly at Lydia, “so they probably want coffee. Derek, I’m assuming you didn’t reply so I’ll take it as a yes.” Stiles turned back around as the coffee maker burbled away. 

“That’s freaky,” Jackson muttered. 

“So’s your face,” Stiles retorted childishly. Jackson scowled. After a few moments, Stiles spoke again. “Sorry,” he apologized. “ ‘M really tired. I jumped on Derek, like, five minutes before you got here.” All gazes swung over to the alpha, who was looming just a bit off to the side with his arms crossed over his bare chest. Realizing just how dodgy that sounded, especially since the alpha kind of had sex hair from their scuffle, Stiles quickly started stuttering. “Like, not, like, in a sexual way! I literally jumped on his back and it nearly knocked his towel down, which would not have been good for either of us!” Some little part of Stiles brain offered up a mental picture of Derek Hale naked, which, well. That might be good for Stiles. “Anyways! Aren’t we supposed to be having a meeting? Let’s, uh, do that.” Finally, Stiles chanced a glance at Derek. The werewolf wasn’t blushing, not exactly. But his lips were doing something new that made Stiles want to coo over him and squish his cheeks. 

Luckily, Derek started for the living room before Stiles could actually do anything so embarrassing. The rest of them followed, and Scott started talking about some strange weather anomalies focused solely in Beacon Hills. They passed around bowls of chips and tossed around a few theories. If he was being honest, Stiles was pretty sure he had an inkling of what it was, but he was too busy focusing on consuming as many Cheetos as humanly possible before someone stole the bowl. “Jack Frost and Mother Nature are in a lover’s quarrel,” he suggested jokingly through orange lips. 

Derek made a face like he was truly considering it, because that was Stiles’ life now. Mother Nature and Jack Frost were real possible threats. “I was joking,” he clarified, pausing the rapid shovelling of Cheetos into his mouth in order to look at the alpha. “Or… not?” 

“No,” Lydia decided. “It’s not that.” Derek nodded almost imperceptibly. 

“Put the Cheetos down,” he ordered, scowling across the living room table at Stiles. The teenager opened his mouth of half-chewed puffs and made a childish  _ na na nana na _ . When Derek continued to glare at him, Stiles threw a Cheeto. It bounced off the werewolf’s nose, leaving behind an orange smear. “Stiles,” he said, slowly wiping the dust off his skin with a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” the teenager mumbled after a quick stare-down. He crawled to his feet and walked over to the love seat Derek was settled on. Regretfully leaving the bowl behind on the table, Stiles plopped down next to the werewolf with his back against the armrest to face him. 

“You’re definitely Derek’s favourite,” Erica announced. “If any of us did that, he’d be all fangs and low growls by now.” As if proving her point, Derek turned to her with a short snarl. “See?” Erica cried, gesturing at him while looking at Stiles. 

“Sourwolf,” Stiles muttered, throwing another Cheeto just to see if she was right. Derek held out a threatening hand, as if warning to somehow punch, claw, or otherwise injure Stiles if he did it again. However, his nails didn’t grow into claws and his eyes remained their usual blue. “Sorry, big guy,” Stiles said, naturally inching closer to pat the alpha’s back. He told himself it was just a natural, human interaction, or maybe he just couldn’t quell the temptation to work out a few more knots. Once he started, it was hard to stop. 

Erica stared incredulously but Stiles distracted her. “It’s a witch,” he said, massaging Derek’s firm muscles. “The weather, all the poor little animals that went missing, the random robberies at jewelry stores. Silver and animal bones for spells. She probably specializes in weather magic. Or he. Or they.” Stiles wrinkled his nose as he thought. “The witch is probably preparing for something big. An attack, maybe to wipe out your territory,” he continued, nodding at Derek. “Or just to be a dick, I dunno. If she- if  _ the witch _ is trying to fuck with your territory then we might be fucked. Witches usually come in covens, don’t they?” 

Everyone stared at him blankly. “No?” Stiles asked, quickly losing confidence. Maybe he’d missed a big memo about witches all being dead, or something. “Nevermind.” He looked down to his lap and considered pulling his hand off Derek’s back to cover his flaming cheeks. However, he was just about done with a particularly bad knot and ever since he’d started, Derek’s lips had been quirked in what might even be happiness, or at least some form of it. 

“You’re right,” Derek muttered. “How the hell did you figure all that out?

Stiles shrugged. “Dunno. I read some stuff about witches a few weeks ago because I was bored.” 

“Dude,” Scott muttered with an awed whistle, and everyone else nodded in agreement. Even Derek gave an impressed eyebrow twitch. 

 

The fourth time, Stiles was seriously concerned that Derek was about to lose it. It was a few days after the pack meeting and the, heh, literal witch hunt was not going well. The strange weather had continued much to meteorologists’ confusion, but the pack wasn’t any closer to finding the damn witch. Derek was taking it especially hard; Stiles was starting to regret suggesting that the witch might to trying to do something to his territory. 

“Dude!” Stiles yelped in surprise when he entered his bedroom to find the wolf looming for the fourth time that week. “Can’t you call first?” Derek didn’t even spare time to shoot him a  _ look _ . The alpha grabbed Stiles and shoved him down into his desk chair. 

“I need your help,” Derek ground out, looking furious. Stiles was tempted to make a joke (“Pardon? Did you say that the big bad alpha werewolf needs puny little human Stiles’ help?”), but he decided against it. Derek already looked horribly uncomfortable to be asking for help. 

“With what?” Stiles asked, absently spinning around in his desk chair. 

“Research,” Derek replied. “I have a theory, but I need your help looking into it.” Stiles nodded. 

“Okay. GIve me what you have and I’ll look into it.” 

“No,” Derek said, voice deep and rough as if each word pained him. “We have to… work together.” 

“What?” Stiles asked. “Like, bounce ideas off each other or literally both crouch over the same computer and fight for control of the keyboard?” 

Derek grumbled, glancing to the window as if he was considering leaving. “I tried researching it myself but there’s so much conflicting information. But you can’t just do it yourself; I know bits and pieces that I heard.” 

Stiles took that in. “So, what? I research and you… lurk over my shoulder and supervise?” Derek nodded slowly. “Okay,” Stiles sighed, already turning to switch his laptop on. “Take a seat  wherever,” he said, waving vaguely around his room. Derek didn’t move. “Or continue to loom creepily,” Stiles muttered under his breath. Derek huffed and dragged a chair over to sit, peering over Stiles’ shoulder. “Okay,” the teenager hummed, quickly exiting out of his last windows and opening a new one. Even though he’d closed it before the site could load, he peered back over his shoulder to see if Derek had noticed the fact that he’d been on PornHub. Thankfully, the alpha seemed preoccupied with glaring out the window. “What am I looking up?” 

Derek explained with quick, precise words. Even before he’d finished, Stiles had an unimpressed eyebrow raised. “That’s a shit theory,” he informed plainly. Derek scowled. “Fine, fine,” Stiles sighed. “I’m typing, see?” he said, pointedly nodding at his rapidly moving fingers on the keyboard. Derek gave him a bored glare. 

An hour passed. Then two. By the time three hours passed, and they weren’t any closer to finding anything useful, Stiles was ready to quit. It was a shit theory. 

“Come on, dude,” he said, spinning in his chair until his knee hit Derek’s. “Move on. You were wrong; no big deal. The witch hasn’t done anything super bad yet. We might just have to wait her out.” Derek growled. 

“Move over,” he snapped, rolling Stiles and his wheely chair away from the laptop with a shove. 

“Derek,” Stiles sighed, slumping back as the werewolf took over researching. “Fine. I’m going to get a sandwich.” 

A sandwich quickly turned into three, followed by a cup of coffee and two glasses of Diet Coke. Stiles then stood around in the kitchen for a few minutes, debating whether or not to make something for Derek. When he finished making a sandwich for the wolf, he decided to make another for himself. By the time Stiles got back upstairs, a plate and two cups of coffee carefully balanced between his arms, Derek was a  _ mess _ . He looked like a stressed out college student right before exams, multiplied by four. 

“Dude,” Stiles said, depositing his armload onto the desk and pushing the laptop aside. “Take a break. You look like you’re about to rip your hair out, and the shaved head is my thing.” Derek scoffed, but left the laptop where it was. “I made you a sandwich,” Stiles offered, pushing the plate closer. Derek eyed it ravenously and Stiles had to hold back a snicker. The alpha looked like a puppy eyeing a plate of bacon. “Eat,” Stiles insisted instead, instinctually resting a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You have to relax.” Feeling just how tight the wolf’s shoulders were, Stiles stepped over to stand behind him and attempt to rub the tension out of them. 

Derek sighed softly and leaned back, flexing his fingers before grabbing the sandwich. He scarfed it down in barely a minute, licking mustard off his thumb in a way that Stiles couldn’t help but think of as lewd. “You want another one?” Stiles asked, already lifting his hands off Derek’s back to head for the door. The alpha made a growly noise and snapped his hand back to grab Stiles’ wrist. 

“ ‘M fine,” Derek muttered, quickly releasing his grip on the teenager. Wearing a small confused expression, Stiles went back to kneading the tension out of Derek’s shoulders. 

“It was a shit theory,” Stiles murmured. 

“Shut up.” 

 

The fifth time was the damn witch’s fault. After weeks of failed research, the pack finally located her. Well, more like a freak storm started brewing in the exact centre of Beacon Hills and Derek sought her out in the woods and clawed her neck open. When Stiles got the call ten minutes after the storm had abruptly stopped--it had taken Derek awhile to work his phone with bloody hands--the teenager threw a fit. 

“Are you freaking kidding me, Derek?” he snapped into the phone. “You couldn’t chill all your big alpha mojo for ten minutes to--oh, I don’t know--shoot me a quick text so I could tell you to ask if she was part of a coven? Or even just think about what I told you at the meeting! Now we have a dead witch to clean up and no idea if there are more coming!” 

“Shut up, Stiles!” Derek yelled back. “I was trying to keep her alive,” he snapped, “until she stabbed me in the back with some knife dipped in witchy potion! The skin healed but it’s  _ blue _ , Stiles.” The teenager winced, abruptly hit with the mental image of Derek looking like a giant muscular smurf on his deathbed. “Get over here and call Deaton.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles nodded, despite the fact that Derek couldn’t see him. “Hang on. We’ll be there soon.” They’d barely hung up before Stiles was dialing Deaton’s number. “Derek got stabbed with some witchy shit,” he announced as soon the call connected. “He healed but he’s blue and he’s in the woods waiting for us.” Deaton muttered something in response but Stiles had already hung up. 

Holding back a small well of panic, he texted the rest of the pack and rushed to his Jeep. “You gotta cooperate today, alright beautiful?” he muttered as he turned the key. Thankfully, the junky old car cooperated and she started up on the first try. “Oh, I love you,” Stiles muttered, patting the steering wheel fondly. “What a good car you are,” he cooed. Continuing to murmur niceties at the inanimate vehicle, he pulled out of the driveway and whipped down the road at top speed. Sometimes, having the sheriff as the dad had its perks. Especially when his grumpy werewolf friend that he might be mildly attracted to got attacked by a witch and started changing colour. 

“Derek!” Stiles yelled as soon as he skidded his car to a stop next to the throng of looming trees that were spooky even in the sunlight. Stiles was just thankful that it was the midday. “Derek!” he screamed, scrambling out of the car and barely remembering to close the door behind him. “Where are you, buddy? Just give me a howl, a stern yell of my name, anything.” Thank god, the werewolf hears him. A short howl, soft enough that only Stiles will hear it, echoes from somewhere thankfully nearby. “I’m coming!” Stiles promises, barreling through the woods and wincing at how loudly the underbrush twigs snap underfoot. If there are any other threats around, they definitely know that he’s here now. 

Soon, though, his wild scrambling proves worthwhile as he nearly runs face-first into his alpha. “Derek!” he cries out, throwing an arm around the wolf before he can think it through. He’d been half-expecting to find Derek lying weakly on the ground, half-way dead. Instead, however, the young man is standing there with an expression that’s more annoyed than pained. 

“Where’s Deaton?” he snaps, turning to display a knife-shaped hole in his shirt that he evidently ripped further open. Derek hadn’t lied on the phone; his back looked perfectly normal, save for the fact that it was a bright, unnatural  _ blue _ . Not the pale, frostbitten blue that was nearly white. No, Derek’s impressive, muscular back was the colour of a blue raspberry Slushie. 

“Dude!” Stiles cried, reaching out to press a hand to the freaky, witch-infected skin before he had a chance to consider the possible risk. “You- you’re blue!” he cried out intelligently. 

Derek grumbled under his breath. “Where’s Deaton?” he repeated, voice huffy and more annoyed than angry. 

“Right here.” Thankfully, before Stiles can repeat something as equally idiotic and obvious as  _ “you’re blue,” _ Deaton appeared at their side with a level of creepy that reminded Stiles of the many jump-scares caused by arriving home to Derek lurking in his bedroom. Nothing could ever hold a candle to the alpha, though. Except maybe Peter. But Stiles didn’t like to think about Peter. 

“You guys go back to Deaton’s clinic,” Stiles instructed, finally noticing the pale witch’s corpse sprawled weakly in the centre of a witchy circle that had been burnt into the ground. “I’ll, uh. Do… something, with that,” he shrugged, eyebrows furrowed. “Nothing weird is going to happen if I bury her, right? I don’t have to do anything special with, like, burning her or melting her or something?” 

Deaton shook his head. “Bring the body.” He offered up no further information. Used to Derek’s method of communicating, Stiles merely shrugged and nodded. 

“Your big wolf-y muscles still work?” he asked the alpha. Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed the body without a hint of gentleness or strain. Stiles smiled to himself, beckoning with two fingers for the werewolf to follow. “We’ll meet you there,” he said to Deaton. The vet nodded. “Derek’s not going to suddenly keel over in the back of my Jeep, right?” Derek scowled and Deaton shook his head. “Cool,” Stiles nodded, though he still rested a hand on the werewolf’s back under the pretenses of leading him. Stiles was careful not to touch the floppy arm of the witch from where she was thrown over Derek’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” the werewolf grumbled, but he didn’t push Stiles away. Maybe because he was busy holding the corpse, but he didn’t seem to be extenuating much effort for that. Peering at her scrawny body, Stiles was pretty sure even he could manage to carry the witch. 

“You’re blue,” Stiles replied. 

 

+-+

 

Whoever the witch was, she wasn’t a very good one. Despite his odd new colouring, Derek was fine. A bit pissed off, maybe, but fine. 

“The colour will fade on its own,” Deaton said, prodding at the skin with a thin tool. “However, as the magic works its way out of your body, you’ll experience extreme discomfort and aching, along with an eventual sharp pain. Its effects were probably meant to take hold immediately in order to weaken and incapacitate you.” 

“How long will it last?” Stiles wondered, already resigning himself to some time cooped up at Derek’s place to-- care for the alpha didn’t sound quite right, but he supposed that’s what it was. 

“The worst of it will last a few hours,” Deaton responded, looking grim and sympathetic. “He’ll be sore for about a week, though. When the blue completely fades, so will the pain. Do not let any others draw out the pain or the magic could spread to them. I’ll warn you, when the pain hits its peak there will probably be some…  _ strange _ effects to the colour. Don’t be alarmed, but keep me updated. I’d suggest avoiding other werewolves until the peak fit of pain ends. Derek’s instincts could react  _ violently _ , shall we say, with the magic.” Stiles nodded slowly, taking in the information. Before he could interrogate Deaton for more, Derek grabbed him by the shoulder and started tugging him to the door. 

“Dude-” Stiles started to complain, before he noticed the tight line of the wolf’s mouth. “Okay, see you later,” he called over his shoulder at Deaton. “I’ll text every half hour.” The vet nodded, still looking all too grim for Stiles’ liking. 

Under Derek’s insistent tugging, however, he had no choice but to follow. As soon as they reached the Jeep, Stiles turned in his seat to look at the alpha. “You’re nervous,” he announced. Derek glared. “I’m not driving until you at least give me a little head tilt or something. You’re nervous.” Derek barely managed to lift a finger before Stiles slapped a hand over his. “Don’t try to forcibly snatch my keys and take over the car.” Derek twitched his jaw in a way that Stiles deciphered as alarm. He paused for a moment to consider it. “You’re freaked out that I knew what you were going to do. And you’re nervous,” he tacked on, just for the sake of being annoying. If Derek was annoyed, there was less room to be worried. “Relax, big guy. I’ve known you for god knows how long and I’m kind of an obsessive nerd who notices shit. That’s, like, my whole role in the pack.” Derek gave him a long look. “You’re nervous,” he repeated. “Why?”

Derek continued staring with his eyebrows downturned. “Okay,” Stiles said, stretching out the word. “I’ll guess. Hmm,” he hummed. “You won’t be able to heal the pain which is going to fucking suck, especially since Deaton had a face like he expected it to hurt like hell. But that’s not it, or at least not entirely.” Stiles settled in more comfortably to continue looking at Derek. “You’ll be weak and you can’t be near your pack. And you’re stuck with wimpy ol’ human Stiles for a week.” Stiles winced. “Unless you’re not nervous and you’re just dreading the part where I’m there.” 

“Shut up and drive,” Derek replied. Stiles complied. A few minutes passed before Derek spoke again. “If something attacks…“ he trailed off. “Or if the witch did have a coven.” Though it wasn’t much, it was enough to reassure Stiles that Derek was in fact nervous about being weak and separated from his pack, not about spending a lengthy amount of time with Stiles. 

“It’s just seven days,” he promised. “Besides. I’m sure your stubborn ass could still figure something out if anything attacked. Not that it will.” Derek grumbled under his breath but relaxed nonetheless. Smiling to himself, Stiles switched on the radio. Much to his surprise, Derek only rolled his eyes but didn’t immediately switch it off. Not even when Stiles started singing along softly. In fact, Stiles thought he saw a hint of fondness in the wolf’s eyes; but it could’ve just been the light. 

By the time they arrived at Derek’s place, however, Stiles was starting to grow concerned. The werewolf was being all too compliant and just…  _ nice _ . Well, okay, not nice, but… pleasant, almost. He wasn’t bossing Stiles around, at least. When Derek opened the door for him, though… Stiles scowled. “What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

Derek  _ winced _ , which looked more like a blink, but still. “What?” he asked, looking like a confused puppy. A puppy that could rip Stiles in half. 

“Why are you being so nice?” 

Derek scoffed and shoved past him into the apartment. Stiles shrugged with the decision to figure it out later, and followed him in. Before Derek could disappear into his bedroom to brood and hold anymore doors open, Stiles pounced. Not literally this time. “We’re watching TV,” he announced, looping an arm through Derek’s and dragging him to the couch. Stiles kept waiting to be thrown bodily through the air, but nothing happened. Instead, he managed to get the alpha seated on the overstuffed loveseat next to him. “You have Netflix, right?” 

 

+-+

 

The first sign of pain appeared when Derek started shifting and subtly digging his fingers into his thigh. Stiles didn’t say anything, but he slid closer in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort. Twenty minutes later, Derek started tapping his foot rapidly and digging his teeth into his lower lip. It only brought attention to the fact that his two front teeth were slightly longer than the rest. By the time an hour had passed, Derek looked incapable of sitting still and he’d donned a grimace that wouldn’t quit. 

Finally, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. “Derek,” he said softly. “How bad is it?” 

“I’m fine,” the alpha grumbled. 

“Let me see,” Stiles ordered, pausing the show and grabbing at Derek’s shirt. Though he made a low rumbly noise that wasn’t quite a growl, the werewolf let Stiles strip him of his leather jacket and Deaton’s borrowed shirt. “Turn,” Stiles instructed, gently pushing at the bare skin of Derek’s shoulder to move him. Softly but without fear, the teenager started prodding at the blue skin. “It looks… bluer,” he decided. Fascinated, he continued to gently brush the pads of his fingers over the warm skin. Derek arched back into the touch and let out a happy, breathy noise. 

Realizing what he’d done, the grumpy wolf froze. Stiles imagined his eyes to be comically wide. “Deaton said the skin would be more sensitive when I texted him an hour ago,” Stiles supplied. “This… this is helpful, right? Makes it-- makes it hurt less?” Derek mumbled something that he couldn’t hear, but he took it as a yes. 

With a sad smile, Stiles recalled the way his mom would rub his back and hum soothingly when he got sick as a child.  _ “Spiders dancing and butterfly wings, joy and peace this feeling brings, _ ” she’d murmur tunefully. Lost in the memory, Stiles started singing the song under his breath. Since Derek didn’t react, at least not one that the teenager could see, it took a few minutes to realize he was humming aloud. 

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, blushing crimson and channeling his focus into massaging Derek’s back. 

“S’fine,” the wolf muttered. There was long pause and Stiles swore he could  _ feel _ Derek thinking. Eventually, the alpha spoke. “My mom used to sing to me. Less about spiders, but…” he trailed off, back tensing under Stiles’ fingers. 

The teenager danced his fingers up to the back of Derek’s normal-coloured neck, momentarily forgetting the whole werewolf-instinctually-protecting-their-neck thing. As soon as he realized, Stiles wrenched his hand back like he’d been burned. However, Derek hadn’t instantly ripped his hand off and tore his throat open. In fact, thinking back on it, Stiles thought he had heard a happy little sigh and the werewolf might have even pressed back into his hand. The pleased reactions had made sense when Stiles was massaging his sensitive back, but his neck? Where the spell hadn’t spread to? 

Derek started to get up off the loveseat. Jolted out of his thoughts, Stiles sprung up to catch the alpha by the wrist. “Hey, where are you going?” Derek growled and tried to pull away but the teenager clung on. 

After a moment, Derek finally seemed to realize he wouldn’t be getting away without harming Stiles at least a little bit or saying something. “Going to my room,” he replied, trying again to pull away. Stiles gave the back of his head a confused glance; he’d been anticipating a tight pinch or slap or something. “Can you let go?” Derek asked, turning with his eyebrows raised in annoyance. 

“Why?” Stiles asked, watching the way Derek was starting to twitch from pain. “Wasn’t the, uh…  _ you know _ , helping?” For whatever reason, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to say massage. It just sounded too weird. 

“You stopped,” Derek muttered, trying to pull away with one big yank of his arm. Surprised by the words, Stiles nearly let him. However, the stubborn instinct in him had him clinging on. 

“Because I touched your neck,” Stiles said finally. “I thought you were going to wolf out on me. Look, just sit down and I’ll steer clear this time, okay?” 

Derek stood still for a count of seven seconds. Based on his carefully controlled breathing, Stiles assumed that the alpha was considering it in length. Eventually, though, Derek pulled away. Without a word from either of them, the alpha disappeared into his bedroom. 

 

Stiles woke up to a loud screaming howl. Completely forgetting the ache in his neck from falling asleep on the loveseat with a book in his hands, Stiles sprinted up the stairs towards Derek’s bedroom. “Derek!” he cried out, throwing the door open in a panic. 

There, lying on the bed in a pool of misery and pain while drenched in sweat, lay the alpha, looking worse than Stiles had ever seen. “Stiles,” Derek groaned, his face pushed into a pillow. “Please,” he begged, writhing around on his stomach. “Hurts.” 

“Oh, my god,” Stiles whispered, frozen for a moment. Another pained yell followed by a whimpery plead from Derek had the teenager scrambling onto the bed next to him, sitting cross-legged. “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Stiles murmured, shoving the tangled mess of blankets down to the foot of the bed. Tentatively, he reached out for the shirt-covered skin of Derek’s back. “I’m going to take this off, alright?” he warned softly, gently grabbing the hem of Derek’s sweat-soaked shirt. 

With as much care and speed as he could manage, Stiles slid the garment up over his alpha’s broad shoulders. “Holy fuck,” Stiles muttered, eyes going wide at the sight of the patch of blue skin. “Derek, you’re… dude, you’re  _ glowing _ ,” he said, reaching for the brilliantly shining blue flesh. As soon as his fingers brushed Derek’s back, the wolf let out a long groan and arched back. Flush with worry that he was hurting Derek even more, Stiles wrenched his hand back for the second time that day. 

This time, however, it made Derek yelp. The werewolf whipped his head around to display a mouthful of fangs as he grabbed at Stiles’ hand to pull it back against his skin. “Please,” he moaned miserably, thrashing around through the pain. Heart racing at the sight of Derek in such agony, Stiles pressed both of his hands to the cruel blue flesh and rubbed gently. Making short, choked off noises in the back of his throat, Derek flailed and shifted, arching back into the touch and occasionally panting out thank you’s. Worried that the werewolf was going to smash his face against the heavy wooden headboard, Stiles tugged Derek’s head into his lap. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” the teenager hummed soothingly, caressing the uncomfortably warm azure flesh. “It’ll be over soon, you’re okay,” he promised, glancing at the clock. Stiles had been up here for five minutes at most; Deaton had said this would last a few  _ hours _ . “Just breathe, shh.” 

“T-” Derek stammered, cutting off in a long groan. “Talk to me,” he managed. “Distract me, Stiles,  _ please _ .” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles agreed readily, his breathing jagged with worry. “Okay, uh, at least you didn’t get stabbed in the dick, right? Can you imagine? That would fucking  _ suck _ . Oh, my god, me sitting here trying to rub your dick, holy shit,” Stiles rambled, his filter melting under the weight of his panic. 

“Talk about something else,” Derek growled, feet scrabbling at the mattress and making his head push against Stiles’ stomach. “Fuck!” he hissed, digging his forehead into Stiles’ denim clad thigh. It brought his heavy breaths uncomfortably close to the teenager’s dick, paired with the mental image of Stiles jerking off Derek’s blue dick as the werewolf  _ screamed _ \--in pleasure, this time.  _ Now is not the time, Stiles _ , the teenager scolded himself. 

“Okay, okay,” he said aloud, biting his lip in thought. “Uh, I was reading this really interesting article about serial killers yesterday,” he offered. “There’s a man in Japan who killed, raped, and  _ ate _ one of his classmates, but he didn’t get jail time. They found parts of her body in his fridge and he’s fully admitted to it but they couldn’t hold him. He’s a free man just living out his life. He’s written books about it and sold them! He’s like a celebrity there,” Stiles ranted, rubbing Derek’s back a bit harder in place of gesticulating. “He had good parents and a happy childhood, too. But they never taught him about, like, sexual shit, so he didn’t know how to deal.”

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, giving him a  _ look _ . 

“How can you still manage that even now?” Stiles complained, starting to rub circles with one hand while the other swept up and down Derek’s back. “Anyways, uh. What do you want me to talk about? I went shopping last week and nearly ran a kid over with my cart. My dad has started sneaking donuts at work and I’ve been waiting for a chance to bring it up. I had a creative writing assignment and I turned in a One Direction fanfic from Wattpad with the names changed and got full marks. Yesterday I banged my knee on the door and now I have a bruise shaped like Texas. Any of those sound interesting?” 

“O- One Direction fanfic?” Derek repeated shakily. He turned enough to look up at Stiles, his head cradled between the teenager’s thigh and hip. 

“You don’t know One Direction? Oh, my god, dude. They’re a boy band with millions of teenage girls falling at their feet. Hey, and teenage boys, although there are less of them.” Stiles started going into everything he knew about One Direction, based on information he’d picked up from a two-day long obsession a few years back. “Niall was my favourite. He’s arguably the ugliest but,  _ man _ . I fucking loved that dude.” Stiles sighed thoughtfully. When he fell silent, quietly comparing Derek to Niall--Derek was obviously hotter--the werewolf managed to lift a shaky hand and pressed it against Stiles’ knee. 

The teenager yelped. “Ow!” he cried, though he didn’t stop caressing Derek’s back to slap the hand away. “Leave my Texas bruise alone.” Suddenly, Stiles realized that the werewolf hadn’t let out any pained yells or even soft groans for a while. “Hey,” he commented, so focused on his revelation that he didn’t take note of Derek’s hand sliding from his knee to grip at his thigh. When Stiles would later remember that certain detail, he’d blame it on the wolf wanting to hold something to deal with the excruciating pain. “Does it hurt less?” 

Derek turned again to press his face into Stiles’ side. “Yeah,” he muttered, even as Stiles could feel him gritting his teeth--no, wait. Fangs, those were definitely fangs--against his side. A part of Stiles’ brain supplied the memory of Derek biting Jackson’s side when he’d attempted to turn him. A bigger part of Stiles knew that Derek would never turn him, not without receiving explicit permission. Not even when he was in extreme pain and all his instincts were going haywire; possibly telling him to grow his pack, extend his power. Absently, Stiles considered the fact that Derek’s deepest wolf instincts might not see him as a part of the pack unless they became mates or he turned. 

“Do I smell like pack?” Stiles wondered aloud. 

“Obviously,” Derek grunted. “You are pack.” 

“But some of your instincts don’t think so, right?” Stiles protested, unsure why he was bringing this up now. Then again, there was no time like the present. “Like, not unless I turn or… became,” Stiles stuttered over his words for a moment, “someone’s mate. A wolf in the pack.” 

“No,” Derek growled. “You’re pack, Stiles,” he insisted. “If you weren’t, I’d have torn your throat out half an hour ago.” 

“Hah,” Stiles laughed, though it was more of just a violent expulsion of breath. “That’s comforting.” Mulling over what Derek had said, Stiles fell into silence as he continued rubbing the werewolf’s back. Though Derek kept wincing and jolting, occasionally letting out low, pained noises under his breath, the pain seemed to have faded. Enough that he wasn’t rolling around screaming, at least. 

“Keep talking,” the alpha muttered after a few minutes. “It was helping.” Desperate to keep that almost-comfort, Stiles spoke again. 

“Is Allison pack?” 

Derek shook his head almost instantly. “Not the way you are.” 

“...Huh,” Stiles hummed, shifting on the bed to stretch his legs out and lie back. He moved Derek’s head onto his stomach, internally cooing at how soft and silky his pitch hair was. “So I really am your favourite,” Stiles commented, light and teasing. Unlike how he’d expected, though, Derek didn’t roll his eyes or scoff. “Am I?” 

“Shut up,” Derek replied, scooching closer so that Stiles had better access to his back. 

“Holy shit, I totally am!” Stiles cried out suddenly, accidentally pressing his fingers into Derek’s spine. The werewolf grumbled. “No, really. You called me first after the witch hit you. Even before Deaton told you to avoid the other wolves, you were going to stay with me. You let me touch your neck! Your eyes got all red when Erica jumped on your back a few weeks ago and barely even brushed your neck. Holy shit!” Stiles cried, lifting his hand and pressing it to Derek’s pulse point on his neck to prove his point. The alpha batted him away, but otherwise didn’t react. “Dude,” Stiles hummed, grinning. “You lo-o-ove me.”

Derek pushed him off the bed. 

Immediately, the alpha started making pained noises again until a still-grinning Stiles crawled back up and resumed massaging him. Smoothly, Stiles transitioned into chatting about a weird dream he’d had last night involving giant sunflowers, a pink Diet Coke can, and a Shih Tzu. 

 

+-+

 

The worst of Derek’s pain ended two hours later. Slowly, the brilliant golden hued glow started to fade from his blue patch of skin, earning an excitable yell from Stiles. “The light’s fading!” he cried, drumming his fingers excitedly on Derek’s back. Derek hummed agreeably; he’d been feeling the pain dull down for the past ten minutes while Stiles had been staring at the ceiling and telling him about his fifth birthday party. The kid never seemed to run out of things to talk about, even after two and a half hours. 

Stiles rolled onto his side, presumably to more easily observe Derek’s back as he continued kneading. Voice light and excited, the teenager narrated the slow decline in the spell as his hands danced across Derek’s back. “Does it feel better?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah,” Derek replied softly, pressing his forehead into Stiles’ hip in relief as the excruciating agony finally,  _ finally _ faded. All it left in its wake was a dull ache, but nothing the werewolf couldn’t manage. Letting out a low, relieved sigh, Derek pulled away from Stiles’ anchoring touch. “Thanks,” he muttered, feeling awkward now that there wasn’t any unbearable pain to distract him. 

Stiles grinned and rolled over onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Dude, I am  _ wiped _ ,” he announced, yawning like a lethargic cat. “Tha’ was hard work.” Derek winced internally. Of course Stiles would view it as nothing more than an inconvenience. Just another annoying duty as part of the pack; the same as when he had to help dig graves or spend hours uselessly research shit theories. 

“You can go,” Derek said, sliding off the bed and heading for the shower. 

“What?” Stiles asked, voice losing its sleepiness. “Deaton said it would last a week.”

“The bad part is over,” Derek replied, pausing in the doorway to the en suite. “You can go home. I’m fine.” 

Stiles sighed loudly, sitting up to throw a pillow. Even though Derek knew he could have caught it with ease, he let the pillow bounce off his back. “Literally no one has ever been fine when they say that. We’re in foreign territory here; you shouldn’t be alone with some witchy spell on you.” Stiles’ heartbeat suddenly jumped strangely and he started to ooze the cold scent that Derek had learned meant he was feeling insecure. It smelled like a bitter, cold winter that could make even a werewolf shiver. “If I’m really so annoying that you can’t stand to be around me anymore then at least call someone else. I’ll double-check with Deaton, but I’m pretty sure you can be around other werewolves now,” Stiles insisted, plastering on a light tone. “Hey, look on the bright side. I actually thought I was your favourite for a second there; my intellect might be wearing thin. Without that, I’m pretty useless, right? You can kick the annoying kid out of the pack.” Though Stiles sounded like he was just joking, even went as far as to snicker, Derek could see past that. 

“Shut up,” he said automatically. The frigid winter smell grew stronger. “You’re not useless, and you’re not getting any less smart. Even if you were as dumb as rocks, you’re still pack.” Though the scent started to fade, Derek still felt a small chill in his spine. “And you are my favourite,” he muttered, just barely reigning in a brilliant red flush. 

“What?!” Stiles cried. “Really?” Derek didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. The teenager was undeterred, jumping to his feet and jogging to stand in front of Derek. “Are you serious?” 

“Shut up,” Derek repeated. Scowling at his feet, he nudged Stiles out of the way to get through the doorway. Stiles caught him by the shoulder, fingers digging into the junction of Derek’s neck and shoulder. With incredible grace that the clumsy teenager had never before displayed, he spun Derek around to look at him. 

“What kind of favourite?” Stiles blurted, looking like he’d planned to something else. “Like, you want to hang out and maybe eat pizza together, or… a more, uh, kissy type of favourite.” 

Derek instantly knew the answer. However, he stayed quiet.

Stiles stared at him intensely with that expression he often wore before making scarily accurate guesses about what Derek was thinking or feeling. “I… I don’t know,” Stiles whined. “You have to tell me,” he pleaded, tugging at his fingers anxiously. “Derek, don’t fuck with me like this. Because I kind of really want to kiss you but you have to tell me if you’ll like it because if you don’t then, well, I don’t actually know but it won’t be good, so can’t you just put the whole edgy, emotionally repressed werewolf thing aside for, like, thirty seconds and just tell me if I’m allowed to kiss you,” Stiles said, all in one breath. His face was flushed by the time he finished speaking. 

Derek couldn’t  _ breathe _ . There was no way he heard that right. Stiles wanted to kiss him? A real, proper kiss? It wasn’t possible. Things like that didn’t happen in Derek’s life. Beautiful, freckled boys with gorgeous, soft, pink mouths didn’t want to kiss him. That just… didn’t happen. Not to Derek. 

“I- I guess that’s a no,” Stiles muttered weakly. His eyes looked glassy as he dropped his head to stare at the floor. A thick, miserable scent poured off him. 

Derek snapped an arm out to pull the teenager to his chest, connecting their lips. Stiles melted into his chest, arms flying around his back to rub and press at Derek’s still-sensitive back. Finally letting himself lose the careful restraint he’d been maintaining for weeks, the werewolf groaned low and pleased at the touch. “Oh, my god,” Stiles panted against his lips. “I might love you.” 

“Love you, too,” Derek replied, before he pushed Stiles down onto the bed. 

  
  



End file.
